


i am everyday people

by anthones



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 07:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthones/pseuds/anthones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony just got cut off and isn't happy how it's affecting his extracurriculars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i am everyday people

**Author's Note:**

> title from everyday people - sly and the family stone

“TODAY YOUR BARISTA IS:

Hella queer

Desperately in need of a good fuck

For your drink today, I recommend:

You give me your number.”

Several people had given him strange looks after seeing his sign, but Tony could hardly care. “Desperately in need” was the understatement of the year. Since his dad had cut him off, all his friends had disappeared. Well, his entourage. Tony wasn’t the best at normal human interactions sometimes, but he was still aware of the fact that the people who’d hung off him and spent so much of dear old dad’s cash weren’t his friends. They’d really just been party people anyway. Much more fun than the idiots he had to deal with at work.

Speak of the devil: A regular customer, an older, bald gentleman, came in, his usual gruff demeanor as off putting as always. The man wasn’t really that bad, but his expression upon entering the shop never failed to put Tony on edge.

“Same as usual, Stone?” Tony asked, already grabbing a large, clear cup.

“Stane,” the man corrected, not even blinking an eye. It was a thing between them. Tony had misread the name on his card on his first day because he was more than a little hungover.

“How’s the family?” Tony asked, filling the cup with iced coffee. Stane rolled his eyes while the barista mixed in extra mint creamer. “Spot finally figure out geometry?” Tony returned to the register and held out the drink.

“Very funny,” Stane said, trading his card for the drink. “He has finally stopped pissing on the carpet, though.”

“Good, good,” Tony murmured, swiping the card and waiting for the machine to spit out the receipt. He tore it off and handed it to Stane with his card. “Sign that and get off to your ball and chain.”

“Better than working at a coffee shop,” Stane retorted, scribbling a signature.

“Mmm, I’m sure it is.” Tony nodded at him, smiling tensely. “See you tomorrow.”

Stane gave him a vague sort of wave on his way out the door.

Tony sighed, leaning forward on the counter. Stane usually beat the afternoon crowd, but just barely, which meant he had a rush coming soon. He hated working afternoons, almost more than mornings. But he hated it even more when the previous night had been spent laying about his apartment watching cable.

There really was only one problem with his party people taking off, and that was that he no longer had anyone to do anything with or just plain _do_. He’d thought that being Tony Stark, fucking genius, would be enough, but no. Most everyone he tried to seduce was particularly disappointed when they heard the playboy was broke. Then they had some “emergency” to attend to or they just plain ditched him. It was really starting to hurt his ego. Was Tony Stark really only worth what was in his bank account? Surely the many people that sang his praises in bed weren’t _all_ lying.

The afternoon rush started as people who never recovered from the removal of nap time trailed into the shop. As he went through each order, the though crossed his mind that most people would probably have a hard time being as introspective as he was while working. At the very least, then, he still had his brain. The work there was easy for him and honestly, the only reason he was doing something so simple was because it’d been the only interview he hadn’t fucked up.

A buff guy with a ponytail ordered a black coffee and a banana muffin. The way he looked at Tony, he obviously read the sign. But this was a good look, a slightly intrigued look. Tony smirked as he took the guy’s money (exact change, which was weird) and went to make the drink.

“Here you go, Pointbreak,” he said, holding out the coffee and muffin. The side of the cup with his number scrawled across it faced himself.

“Thank you, sir,” the blond said, dipping his head. Just as he went to take the cup, a tiny brunette ran up behind him, and, presumably unable to stop her momentum, collided with him. Pointbreak knocked the drink from Tony’s hand, spilling it all over the counter and the floor around the barista.

“Thor, there you are! I—oh, shit, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?”

Tony grit his teeth, ready to give the girl some choice words.

“It is not your fault, Jane,” the blond, Thor, assured her. “I knew you would be seeking me out—I should have been expecting such a surprise.” He handed her the muffin. “Here, I got you this.” The way he looked at her, eyes so warm, suddenly made Tony very glad that the cup had ended up on his side of the counter. He quickly remade the drink and shooed the couple away, waving off their apologies.

Mopping up the spill with a rag, he sighed. Accidentally giving his number to a guy with a girlfriend wouldn’t have been so bad before—maybe it’d even lead to a threesome or something. Being broke was doing more to him than he’d realized.

“Hey, can you hurry up?”

Tony jerked his head up. The next person in line, a long, dark haired gentleman, glared at him.

“Just a moment, sir,” Tony sneered.

The look on the customer’s face said he was very much in a may-I-speak-to-your-manager sort of mood. Luckily for Tony, though, she was just as unlikely to put up with shit as he was. This likeness was the only reason she’d hired him.

Tony served Mr. Grumpy and then was pleased to inform him that Ms. Hill was out. He left with his double shot espresso in a huff; not for the first time since being hired, Tony wished he had some laxatives behind the counter.

//

The end of his shift was nearing and, fuck, he hadn’t gotten a single fucking number. He knew for a _fact_ that he wasn’t the only horny college student in town and he sure as hell wasn’t the only queer one. As he made a caramel cappuccino for a particularly attractive redhead, he wondered if women were put off because of the queer part. He knew he should have written bisexual or just said he was horny. The girl left with her drink and Tony sighed forlornly, imagining what could have been.

“Um, excuse me.”

Tony snapped out of his daze. Geez, he was distracted lately. Maybe he should consult with Maria on getting his problem fixed; obviously being so sex starved was interfering with his work.

Before him was a rumpled-looking young man with a mop of messy curls. It might have been cute, had he looked anything but annoyed.

Tony pursed his lips at the guy. “Yeah, whaddya want?”

“Small green tea,” he replied.

“Yuck,” Tony said, grimacing. “People actually drink that shit? I thought we just had it because the box was pretty.”

“If you had anything better, I’d be ordering that,” the man snapped, handing him a five dollar bill. “Not my fault you have a terrible selection.”

Tony glowered at him. He was the only one in line and in the shop, actually. Thanking his lucky stars to for a chance to talk back to a customer with little consequence, Tony swapped out the bill for the proper change.

“You’ve got it mixed up, buddy,” he said, grabbing the box of tea and tearing off the plastic wrapping. He held it up. “See? This hasn’t even been opened yet. No one wants this. What they _do_ want”—he gestured to the board of drinks behind him—“are all our delicious _coffee_ based drinks.”

The man rocked back on his heels, examining the menu quietly. Tony allowed himself a smirk before going back to making the stupid tea. _Mess with the bull, get the—_

“And hot chocolate.”

Tony stopped filling the cup with hot water and looked up, brow furrowed.

“What?”

“Hot chocolate. You serve that, too.” The man pointed to the menu. “And Italian sodas. Your garden variety Cokes and Sprites. Milk, juice, bottled water, vitamin water. Says there you even serve alcohol during your special late hours.” He peered at Tony. “Are you even old enough to be serving that stuff?”

“Yes, I am,” Tony replied shortly, setting the cup of water down. “And yeah, we do serve that. Point?”

“With so many different options, it’s obvious coffee isn’t the only thing people come here for. So you can’t expect that to be what everyone wants.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, looking past Tony with a stupid little grin on his face. “Also, there’s already an open box on that shelf, next to the extra lids.” He gestured with a nod.

Tony looked over his shoulder, already aware that the man was right, remembering a ‘love is love’ hipster girl who came in earlier that week and had ordered the same tea, and yes, there it was, right where he’d tossed it after the girl had left. He grit his teeth and breathed carefully through his nose. It was obvious the guy was enjoying this and Tony didn’t want to give him any more satisfaction.

“Well, look at that,” he said evenly. Focusing back on the task at hand, he dropped the tea bag in the water and slapped a lid on. “Here you go.” Tony shoved the drink in the guy’s face. “Enjoy your shitty tea.”

The man considered the drink a moment before carefully taking t from Tony. He turned to leave and Tony let himself relax for a second before the man paused.

“Three five nine seventeen seventeen,” he said without turning around.

Tony blinked. “What?” He had too many moments of confusion with this guy. He hated it. (And also sort of liked it.)

“Three five nine seventeen seventeen,” he repeated, turning to face him this time. “I assume Tony Stark can remember seven numbers.”

“Of course I can,” Tony said, incredulous. And then it clicked. “Why the hell would I want _your_ number? I could get anyone I wanted.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

The man snorted. “Apparently not,” he said, gesturing toward the sign with his tea. He sipped from the drink, grimacing. “Give me a call when you’re off work. We’ll do science.”

Before Tony could think of something to say, he was out the door, leaving behind nothing but the smell of his gross tea and his phone number floating around in Tony’s mind. Tony stared at the door a long time, then scowled and went to clean off the sign.

It wasn’t until he got back to his apartment that he realized the man was in one of his classes. Whatever level of physics he was taking. (He actually hadn’t been to it in a while.) His name was on the tip of his tongue… Banner. His name was Bruce Banner.

//

He pushed it off awhile because he really didn’t want to admit that Bruce was right. Maybe if he didn’t call him, then he would assume somebody else had given him their number. Or that the papers were lying and Tony Stark had some semblance of self-control. Unfortunately, the latter was very, very untrue, and he got tired of his hand and gave in.

The first time he called it was on a whim while he nuked left over pizza; it didn’t even get a chance to connect before he hung up. Tony blamed that on his own stubbornness, though, and not on any anxiety about calling someone. Because he was Tony fucking Stark and that wasn’t what he did.

But hanging up on the second and third calls, which made while pacing as much as he could manage in his tiny kitchenette, was definitely nervousness. He worried about how Bruce would talk to him and after hanging up three times already it was becoming increasingly difficult to try again.

Sitting down, though, helped, and he did try again. He sat there for what seemed like forever, leaning forward as he waited for Bruce to pick up.

 “Hello?”

After thinking about it, Tony remembered Bruce in class a lot more than he previously had. He was much more reserved in class, usually not speaking unless no one else was going to. And he’d never had the sort of attitude Tony had seen in the shop. So either Tony had provoked it or Bruce was just the sort to act like a decent person in semi-professional settings. He wasn’t sure which he hoped for.

“Hey,” Tony replied, doing his best to slide right into his usual easiness with people. “You still wanna do ‘science?’”

There was a pause and then Bruce chuckled.

“There is never a time I _don’t_ want to do science,” he said. “Took you long enough to call.”

“You were at the end of my shift,” Tony lied, leaning back on the couch. An easy smile spread across his face. “That’s a lot of numbers to work through. You should be grateful—I bumped you up a couple because you were cute.”

“Oh, I am,” Bruce said, his voice sort of distant, like he was switching the phone from one hand to the other. “So do I get to pick the time and place?”

“As long as it’s not that fucking coffee shop, I don’t care.”

Bruce laughed again. Tony smiled. He had a good laugh.

There was some shuffling on the other line. “If you’re not busy tonight—”

Tony sat up quickly, interrupting with: “I’ll be there at eight.”

“You don’t even know where ‘there’ is,” Bruce pointed out.

“Minor detail.”

Bruce chuckled again and gave him his address. “Need me to repeat it?”

“I can remember a few numbers and letters,” Tony retorted. He paused. “You like Chinese?”

“I prefer Indian, but yeah,” Bruce said.

“Well, I’m bringing Chinese,” Tony replied, playing with a loose thread in his jeans. “So don’t eat.”

They both don’t talk for a minute. It was almost as bad as not talking to his dad.

“See you at eight,” Bruce finally said.

Tony smiled. “Yup.”

He hung up and relaxed back onto the couch, spreading his arms wide. _Finally._

//

Despite having four hours to find an Indian place that did takeout, Tony still managed to be fifteen minutes late. He probably could have been on time if Bruce’s apartment building wasn’t hiding behind literally every other building surrounding it. It was a decent enough looking building, so it wasn’t like it was a shithole that had to be kept from the public’s eye. Inside, it seemed average enough. Maybe a little bit shabbier than his own building. But he was Tony Stark, so that was to be expected, he supposed. Even if he was poor, living in a pretty building was important to him and probably sapped up more food money than it should have.

 _And, knowing that, I still bought him dinner,_ Tony thought, struggling up the stairs with the bags of food.

It was surprisingly difficult to simultaneously keep the curry from spilling all over in the bag _and_ not fall down and break his neck. Luckily, Bruce only lived on the second floor. He thanked whatever divine being may have been listening for it as he shouldered the door to the second floor open. There was another grateful thought for it being ajar. For all his intellect, he never would have been able to get the door open without somehow spilling the food everywhere.

The second floor was about as uninteresting as the first. Tony checked the door nearest him—it was really close to Bruce’s number. He grinned, looking a little farther down the hall. Aaaand… there it was!

He could almost feel himself buzzing with excitement as he approached. It was a strange, new experience. He wasn’t supposed to get excited about people. _He_ was the famous one. People were supposed to be excited about _him_. But it felt like it’d been so long since someone actually wanted to be around him, let alone maybe sleep with him… although at this point he’d be happy with dinner and some actual science.

Bruce’s door looked just like the others. Ton wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Other than to just be able to easily alert Bruce of his arrival, and, well… that wasn’t happening. He stared at the door for about a minute before giving a resigned sigh and carefully headbutting the door a couple times.

It wasn’t long before the locked clicked and the knob turned. Tony realized he could have kicked the door. The door opened and there was Bruce.

“Hey,” Tony said, smiling wide. He lifted the bags carefully. “You know, it’s actually pretty hard to find good Indian takeout in this town.”

 “I thought you were getting Chinese?” Bruce’s forehead wrinkled, but his expression was amused.

Tony shrugged. “Changed my mind.” There was a long pause as they both just sort of stood there. “We gonna eat in the hall or can I come in?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, sure.” Bruce moved aside and allowed Tony past, eyeing the bags. “So what’d you get?”

“Uh, I didn’t know what you wanted so I got a mild curry and a spicy one,” Tony said. Usually it would have been one of each—to impress and guarantee they both found something they wanted—but he wasn’t exactly rich anymore. It kind of ruined his mood, honestly. He looked around Bruce’s living room. There were books scattered all across the tables and couch, some of them splayed wide open. Three big shelves held even more books, as well as an assortment of what appeared to be comics. Tony approved. “And rice and naan bread. Because, from what I understand, they’re sort of staple foods.”

“A bit, yeah,” Bruce said, closing the door. “Here, let me take one of those.”

“No, I’m fine,” Tony replied, bringing the bags closer. “Just point me to the kitchen.”

The shaggy haired student looked at him a moment, as if trying to decide whether not helping would mean curry in his carpeting.

“Fine,” he said, pointing towards the back of the apartment. “Right through that door.”

Tony walked over to the kitchen, carefully avoiding books on the floor.

“I feel so special,” he teased. “You obviously put so much work into the place looking nice.”

He expected some sort of quip back but instead he got a stutter and holy shit was Bruce blushing a little bit he totally was. A snort was only barely held back.

“Yeah, uh… sorry about that,” Bruce said, following him into the kitchen. It was small and there were papers spread across the table. “I got a little caught up in something and lost track of time.” He gathered the papers up and nodded toward the table. “I’ll just go put these away.”

Tony watched him leave the room, a little smirk on his face. Seeing Bruce flustered—even a little bit—was nice. Suddenly it seemed more like he was dealing with a real person instead of a snarky clone of himself. And it was also really fucking adorable.

While Bruce presumably busied himself with cleaning up, Tony went about setting the food out. The place hadn’t had plates or utensils, which was sort of annoying. But also gave him an excuse to snoop.

Unfortunately, there was nothing interesting in the first cupboard he opened (just a bunch of more gross teas—yuck) and before he could look in anymore, Bruce was back. Either he was a super cleaner or he really did not care that much Tony seeing clutter in his apartment. The latter was equal parts saddening and endearing.

“Plates are in the next one over,” Bruce said, moving beside him and pulling open a drawer. He pulled out a couple forks and looked up at Tony, who had just grabbed the plates. “Do you remember what curries you actually got?”

Tony looked up, trying to remember. “I don’t know. They were Indian names. Weird… um… oh, duh, one of them is vindaloo. I don’t remember the other.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows. “Oh, vindaloo’s good. You have to have it.”

“Alright, seeing as I know jackshit about Indian food, I’ll trust you.”

They sat down at the table and poured rice and curry unto their plates. Tony reached into the bag of naan bread and took out a piece, tossing it onto Bruce’s plate before getting one for himself. Bruce mixed the curry and his rice up, leaving no grain uncovered. Tony followed suit and took a big bite.

…and instantly regretted it because fuck fuck fuck it was hot. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. He could feel his eyes watering. How did Bruce think it was _good_? His mouth was on fucking fire!

“So what do you think?” Bruce asked around a second bite.

 _Put on your man face, Tony_ , he told himself. _That one you use when dad’s ignoring you and your code isn’t working._

“Not the best food I’ve ever had,” Tony replied. He swallowed carefully. “But good.”

They were quiet as they ate. Tony was putting all that he could into overcoming the spices in his food and Bruce just seemed as reserved as he was in class. It was a little disappointing, especially after the coffee shop. He’d been pretty talkative then. What was wrong now?

Halfway through his curry, it was too much. The rice wasn’t helping and the naan had only tempered it a little bit. He had to distract himself with conversation or else he was going to give in.

Tony tried to casually suck in air, like he was about to talk, to relieve the heat. It didn’t help any. “So what do you think of Mazzoleni?”Talking about physics had to be a least a little bit distracting.

“He’s good,” Bruce replied, shrugging. “Knows his stuff. I have no idea why half the class is failing, though.”

“Because they’re all idiots,” Tony said, taking a small bite. He was going to make it. He could will himself through it.

Bruce smirked. “Just because they’re not Tony Stark doesn’t make them idiots.” He paused, picking at a piece of naan bread. “Why are you even _at_ this school? I thought you would have graduated from MIT years ago.”

“Normal college experience. Very important to my old man.” He nibbled on some naan. It still wasn’t helping very much. Mentioning his dad wasn’t a very good idea. That was a distracting subject, but also a complete buzz kill. “You’re pretty damn smart yourself. Why are you here?”

Bruce’s smile disappeared. “I like the town.” He ate some curry. Picked at the naan again. “The atmosphere here is good. Physics department is great, too.”

Tony stared at him a bit, almost forgetting about the hellfire on his plate. He knew issues when he heard them.

“Did I hit a nerve?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Bruce shifted in his seat. “I don’t think this arrangement covers nerves, exposed or otherwise.”

They ate in silence then. Tony picked at his food a little longer before realizing the rice-to-curry ratio had been completely off. Instead of a little bit of rice to help cool his mouth off, he was left with a big scoop of demon curry. Bruce had completely cleaned his plate—Tony couldn’t just leave that last bit there. It was sort of a trying-to-impress-Bruce thing, but also a self pride thing. He had decided on eating all of that dumb food, damn it, so he was going to finish it. He scooped up the last bit and shoved it in his mouth.

It was a terrible idea. There must have been just a _little_ bit more spice in that last spoonful, because Tony’s mouth and sinuses and eyes and his entire face felt warm and wet and he thought he was going to die. There wasn’t any naan left; Bruce had eaten most of it. Now the other man was looking at him, as if expecting something. Of course he was. They were done eating. There was supposed to be sex then.

But Tony couldn’t hold it in any longer.

He sprung from his chair and was at the sink in a flash, gulping down water from the faucet. Behind him, Bruce had burst in to laughter and was wheezing. Asshole couldn’t breathe he was laughing so hard.

“Fuck you.” Gulp gulp. “You fucking knew.” Gulp. “About that curry.” Gulp gulp gulp. “You fucking son of a bitch.”

He couldn’t tell if the warmth in his face was from the curry or from embarrassment. Luckily, it seemed more logical to be red because of the really fucking hot food he just ate then for Tony Stark to be ashamed. Or at least that was what he hoped.

Bruce gasped behind him. “I’m… I’m sorry! I wasn’t sure.” He hiccupped. “Vindaloo isn’t actually supposed to be that hot. But for some reason every place around here makes it that way.” He walked up next to Tony, who was still guzzling water.

There was a moment of quiet, the only sound being Tony trying to drown himself.

“Chemistry not your strong suit?” Bruce finally asked, moving to the refrigerator.

“Water was easier to access,” Tony said, pulling away from the sink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned off the faucet. “And I wasn’t sure if you had any milk.”

Bruce opened the fridge and handed a half gallon to Tony. As he moved to presumably get a glass, Tony just chugged from the container. Bruce stopped and stared at him, his jaw hanging just a little bit. Tony decided he liked that look on Bruce’s face. He wanted to put it there more often.

“Really?” Bruce asked, exasperated.

“Dude, you gave me your number so we could fuck,” Tony replied, holding up the jug. “Drinking straight from this is not even that big of a deal.”

Bruce looked away and ran a hand through his hair. Tony’s heart dropped into his stomach. _Shit_.

“Yeah, that… that wasn’t quite my intention.”

“What?”

Bruce crossed his arms across his chest, seemed to decide he didn’t like that pose, then stuck his hands in his pockets.

“I actually, um… I have this thing. A code. That I was hoping you could look over.”

Tony stared at him. He was kidding. He had to be kidding. Oh, this just wasn’t _fair_. He twisted the top back on the milk and set it on the counter.

“You gave me you number so I could do your homework.” He didn’t need to ask. It was pretty plain. Tony had just thought that the whole ‘dating a nerd to get them to do your homework’ thing was a little too juvenile for them. Hell, he wasn’t even getting a date out of it. Just really fucking hot food and a tease.

“Not homework,” Bruce said, looking up. “It’s my own thing.” The idea of cheating seemed to annoy him. Tony relaxed a little bit. It was better if it was one smart kid to another on outside projects. That was a professional thing that people with degrees did. And that could end in sex sometimes, too, probably.

Tony was more excited by that possibility than he should have been.

“Alright, let me see it.”

//

He was no longer disappointed by the interrupted snooping. Bruce only had a desktop computer hiding back in his bedroom, which allowed for so much more snooping than he ever could have achieved in the kitchen, even with Bruce right there. It was more than he ever could have asked for.

The room was about as cluttered as the rest of the apartment, if not several times more. Tony wasn’t even entirely sure where Bruce slept; his bed was covered in papers and books, just like the couch had been. That raised the question of where they would have fucked, if that had actually been an option to begin with—but he supposed that was what the floor was for.

His desktop was a decently new computer, from what Tony could tell. He honestly didn’t care about them too much until he tore them apart and saw what they were made of, though, so it was hard to tell what was new anymore.

“This is what I’ve been working on,” Bruce explained, opening the window. Tony recognized the program. Just a database thing. Simple enough, but add too many layers and it did get pretty convoluted. “I’ve been trying to keep a record of my books so I know what I have. There’s always that one book you swear you own but can’t find, right? I want to keep that from happening. Because I hate when that happens.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And that’s why it’s so messy. I’ve been trying to find all my books and take down the titles and authors so I could put them in here. But I think I messed something up along the way.” He scrolled through the code a little bit as if he thought he might be able to fix it himself before he made a frustrated noise and turned to look at Tony. “Think you can help?”

Tony shooed him out of the chair and looked through the code himself. It took him a moment, but there it was. “Oh, you just have the wrong data type in here.” He highlighted, backspaced, and quickly typed in the right piece of code. “See, if you have it looking for the string instead of the text, it won’t be able to find your title or author or number of pages or whatever because they’re not that type of data.” He saved the code and went to the query page. “Simple enough of a mistake, once you start making a big database like this. You type the wrong thing in, don’t realize it, and then it’s lost in a sea of text. But having another set of eyes look it over helps.” He looked at Bruce. “Gimme a title.”

Bruce racked his brain for a moment. “ _Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_.”

Tony typed it in and hit search. A window popped right up, stating the title, author, and current condition of the book.

“Ew, you dog ear books?” Tony teased.

“It’s easier than trying to find a bookmark,” Bruce replied. He sat down on his bed, looking at the screen. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Tony leaned back in the chair, careful to make sure it didn’t fall over. He didn’t need anything else hurting his pride. “Did you really ask me over to fix your code?”

Bruce shrugged. “Yeah.”

Tony sighed dramatically, throwing his arms up. “Come _ooooooooooon_! I bought you dinner! You owe me.”

He just stared at him, unsure if Tony was being serious. Tony gave him a look, though, and he laughed, standing up.

“How about I get dessert?”

Tony pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted. But it would have to do.

“If it’s some Indian death cake, I’ll kill you.”

//

After they got their ice cream, the most logical step seemed to be to walk towards Tony’s apartment because neither of them had cars and the cone stop was pretty close, anyway. Tony hoped that if Bruce followed him back to _his_ place, there might still be a chance of saving this night. Maybe. Hopefully.

“A cone hardly costs the same as that demon curry,” Tony said, skillfully keeping ice cream from dripping on his hand.

“I could always get you coffee,” Bruce replied, smirking around his ice cream.

Tony shuddered. “That isn’t funny.”

The walk was pretty quiet. It was better than the silence at Bruce’s apartment because there wasn’t any curry, though, and less sexual tension. Or a helluva lot more. Tony hadn’t decided yet. Unfortunately, the cone stop was a lot closer than he previously realized, because suddenly they were at his building and Bruce looked ready to bolt.

“Last chance to see if the tabloids are right about me,” Tony declared, opening the door wide to let Bruce in.

He just laughed and looked away. “I’m pretty sure they’re not. I’ll see you around.”

Tony watched him leave, incredibly disappointed and yet somehow not.

//

It had been about three weeks since Tony first called Bruce and fixed his code. Since then, the two had begun sitting together in class and getting lunch together when their work schedules coincided. Bruce worked somewhere on campus, which gave him more time during the day. Tony finally broke Maria down so he could just work evenings and weekends. That week they’d eaten lunch together every day and every time Tony was even more upset that they hadn’t fucked yet.

But the shop was calm enough, which allowed him to at least daydream. Maria was in today, too, which meant he had to do even _less._ And man, was it nice. She shot him annoyed looks every once in a while, but they were tinged with amusement, too. Ever since he’d begged to change his hours, she’d been giving him strange looks. Like she knew something he didn’t. And it was bugging the crap out of him. But it also kind of kept her off his back when he zoned out, so that was nice.

He was completely aware of his surroundings, though, when Bruce walked into the shop. He was as scruffy as ever, but bundled up because it was starting to get cool outside. He was wearing a sweater that Tony thought he may have lent him at some point, but he couldn’t be sure.

“What have I told you about coming into this place?” Tony asked as Bruce approached the register.

“Where else am I supposed to get shitty green tea?” Bruce asked. His cheeks were a little rosy. It was really cute.

“Walmart.” Tony started making up the gross tea, checking to make sure there wasn’t already an open box first. He wasn’t going to fall for the same trick twice.

“Nah, if I’m going there, I’m actually going to buy the good stuff,” he replied, pulling out some cash.

“Put that away,” Tony said. “This is on the house.” He popped the lid on and handed it to Bruce with a flourish, careful not to spill any. Maria was in back, so it was easier to give him free stuff. She probably wouldn’t care too much, but it was generally safer to break the rules when your boss wasn’t around.

“But I still haven’t paid you back for the curry,” Bruce protested. “You can’t put me even more in debt—that isn’t fair.”

“Didn’t I tell you? Friendship and indentured servitude are basically the same thing with me.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and sipped at his tea, a bemused smile on his face. It was a quiet time—Bruce seemed to have a knack for showing up when no one else was there. There was a young couple softly tittering in the far corner, an aspiring novelist in the other. Neither party was very interested in what they were doing. Tony was inclined to use this to his advantage… until Maria stepped up next to him, smiling slyly. She had the worst timing.

“Who’s this?” she asked, although it had to be obvious. Tony’d been talking about Bruce a lot and although he hadn’t mentioned anything about the sign, she’d known about it and put two and two together. It explained the stupid look she had on her face whenever he mentioned meeting Bruce for lunch.

“Bruce,” Tony replied carefully. “This is Maria, my boss.”

“Oh, so _you’re_ the reason he’s been on cloud nine lately,” she said, leaning on the counter. “I have to thank you. I get way fewer complaints from customers.”

Tony grimaced. Bruce noticed his expression and smirked.

“Glad I could help,” he said, still looking at Tony.

Maria narrowed her eyes at Bruce, who wasn’t paying any attention to her. Then she looked at Tony, who was glaring right back at her.

“Excuse us,” she said, grabbing the sleeve of Tony’s t-shirt and dragging him to her office. Tony allowed it because

a)      Maria was his boss and despite him usually being against authority as a rule,

  1. He really needed this job
  2. Also he liked Maria



b)      He really wanted to be pissed at her but not in front of Bruce.

So it was pretty convenient that she had dragged him away, actually.

But before he could start in, she was already sighing in exasperation. It was the dramatic sort of sigh, the kind that said “ask me what I’m sighing about.”

“What,” Tony snapped.

“You really haven’t done anything with him, have you?” she asked, sitting on her desk. Her office was hardly an office at all, but the desk made it feel official. Tony thought maybe it’d been her one splurge item, other than the fancy cappuccino maker.

He scoffed, crossing his arms. “Of course we’ve _done stuff_. We go to lunch all the time. And he got me ice cream once. Sometimes we even pretend to do homework.”

            “Oh, come off it, Stark,” Maria replied, rolling her eyes. Tony really had a hard time believing she wasn’t his age sometimes. Could seven or eight years really make that much of a difference? “You know what I mean. He was a number from your sign, right? So why haven’t you two slept together yet?”

            “How do you even know about that?” he asked. He hated that she knew, for some reason. He’d been ready to tell anyone and everyone he needed to get laid then, but talking to Maria now was weird. He didn’t want his _boss_ knowing about it. That was why he’d done it on a day she wasn’t here.

            “Security cameras,” she replied, gesturing to a set of small televisions to his immediate right. “Gotta make sure you don’t steal my shit.” She raised an eyebrow. “Or give away too many free green teas.”

            “It was just the one time,” he said. He didn’t like where this was going. Usually talking to Maria was meaningless banter. Now that she was taking an interest in his life, it was almost like they were friends or something. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

            “I’m only teasing,” Maria said. She looked at him expectantly. “What, no sass today? This must be pretty serious, then.”

            “Shut up.”

            Maria looked at him a long moment. Tony fidgeted under her gaze and she rolled her eyes.

“Get out of here,” she finally told him. Tony blinked. “I’m serious. I can’t stand to look at your face anymore. Go be in love somewhere else.”

“You’re an asshole,” Tony said, glowering at her, and Maria grinned, “and thanks.”

//

 _Thank God for nosy bosses,_ Tony thought as he unlocked his apartment. To Bruce, he said, “Well, here it is.” Bruce had never been inside his apartment; Tony thought maybe it was because he was worried about being on Tony’s turf. Like being there would weaken his will and allow him to be seduced or something. If this was the case, though, what did Bruce finally being there mean? Tony was practically vibrating with excitement over the possibilities.

He watched Bruce look around. Tony’s apartment wasn’t nearly as cluttered as Bruce’s had been, but Tony had to admit that was because most of his books were digital. If all of his information was physical and taking up shelf space, well, then it would probably be much worse than Bruce’s apartment.

“You can toss your coat anywhere,” Tony told him as he dropped his own on the back of the couch. “Do you want a drink or something?”

“Uh, yeah, a beer would be nice,” Bruce replied, shrugging off his jacket.

Tony walked over into the kitchenette, wishing it was a separate thing like at Bruce’s. The openness of the apartment had appealed to him before (as well as the cheap rent), but now he wanted to be hidden so he could be excited for a moment. Alcohol? Bruce had never had any in front of him before. What did that mean?

 _Stop getting your hopes up,_ he chastised himself. _Remember when you went over to his place to fuck and you ended up troubleshooting his code?_ He forced himself to relax as he got out two beers and popped the caps off. Bruce was on the couch, flipping through some files on his tablet, when he came back over.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Tony asked, only a little perturbed that he had totally missed a chance to geek out a bit while Bruce wasn’t looking. He sat down and offered Bruce one of the bottles.

“Just some of the academic papers you’ve got,” he replied sheepishly, taking the beer. He seemed a little embarrassed to be caught looking through Tony’s stuff.

Tony smirked as he took a swig of beer. “Nothing too interesting lately. Though, did you hear about the appendix?”

“Mhm,” Bruce hummed, setting the tablet down carefully onto the coffee table.

Tony tapped a finger against his leg. He really didn’t like what being poor had done to him. He’d regretted getting cut off for a long time, but continually switched up the reason why: Not having the cash, having to work, no more sex, no more friends, worries about interacting with people, no money to impress people. To impress Bruce. Not being confident enough to make a move on Bruce. Having Bruce in his apartment, drinking with him, the other man giving him an expectant look, and not knowing what to say.

He thought about Maria. _She_ ’d been pretty sure about what Bruce was thinking. But how did she know? The woman was smart, but not Stark smart. What was he missing?

“Hey, Earth to Tony,” Bruce said, waving a hand in front of his face. “You in there?” He paused, considering. “Did you have some sort of tech epiphany? Should I—?”He started to stand.

“Jesus, no—fuck,” Tony sputtered, desperately latching onto Bruce’s arm. They both froze; Tony from complete utter embarrassment (and surprise that he hadn’t flung beer everywhere, honestly) and Bruce presumably from some sort of surprise, too, although Tony thought he saw a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Stay,” Tony finally said, releasing Bruce’s arm. He took a sip of his beer, relaxing into the couch. “Y’know… if you want.”

It was Bruce’s turn to smirk and Tony recognized the look. He knew how much he was wanted and he liked it. It was almost enough to make Tony feel better. If he could decide on the meaning of the tension between them (sexual? something Bruce wasn’t telling Tony? the gross taste of the cheap beer that was the only kind he could afford?) then he _would_ be okay. But instead he was spiraling down into thoughts that he couldn’t help but worry about.

Were they just friends? Had he misread the signals? For Christ’s sake, they’d _met_ because Tony had blatantly been looking for sex, so how could they not be more? Was Bruce just not interested? If he wasn’t (not interested), was the shitty beer putting him off? Would he make a dumb comparison between his shitty beer and the shitty green tea at the shop? That might be okay. Maybe Tony should make the comment, since he’d already thought of it. But Bruce saying it would be funnier—

“Hey!” Bruce said, snapping in front of his face. “Focus on the cute scientist in front of you.”

Tony jumped. Jesus, how long had he been thinking? It hadn’t felt like very long, but obviously it had been. Or Bruce was being impatient. If he was, was it because he didn’t want to be there? Or because he _did_ and he wanted something to happen? Did he have something to say? Or—

He stopped. “Focus on _what_?”

Bruce looked embarrassed again. He leaned forward and set his beer on the coffee table, probably trying to stall.

“Uh, me. ‘Cause I’m your guest.”

“That’s not what you said, though.” Tony wish he could stop the stupid grin that was creeping onto his face, he really did, but he couldn’t help it.

“Yeah, well, would anything else have caught your attention?” he scowled, smiling only slightly. Then he looked concerned, though. “What were you thinking about, anyway?”

Tony shrugged and drank some beer. _Now who’s stalling?_

“Stuff. It’s been a lot louder up there since…” He gestured vaguely to his apartment. “…this.”

Bruce nodded, looking around again. “Why are you here, anyway? I would have thought you’d be in some fancy place on the other side of town. Hell, I think my apartment’s better than this.”

Tony avoided answering right away by nursing his beer for a little while. Bruce waited.

“Fucked up, Dad’d had enough,” he finally said, setting his bottle on the table. “So now I’m on my own.” He thought a moment. “Well, not completely, because he’s been paying for classes. Offered to cover some of next semester’s books, too, because I’ve been good.” He kicked at the carpeting. Bruce wasn’t supposed to know that. Being a fuck up was supposed to be a secret.

Bruce touched his face and Tony jumped again. Jesus, he really had to stop falling so deep into thought. His hand was hesitant, but warm. Tony leaned into the touch a little, not really thinking about it. Then Bruce suddenly jerked his hand back, as if he realized what he was doing.

“You’re supposed to do that,” he said, running the same hand through his hair. He wasn’t looking at Tony, instead focusing on the wall across from the couch. “You’re just a kid, Tony. Mistakes are supposed to happen.” He really wished he knew how old Bruce was because, really, they couldn’t be that far apart. But still. His words were comforting.

He would swear at a later time that he hadn’t meant to be the one to make the first move. That he was waiting for Bruce to be comfortable, but in reality he couldn’t wait. Bruce made him feel like a real person, even if it was sometimes a stressed out, confused person. And anyway, he’d figured he’d waited long enough for Bruce to do something. He had to be sure what was going on between them.

Tony took Bruce’s face with both hands and kissed him in a way that was at least sort of gentle, but instead probably felt desperate and needy. However it came off, though, Bruce responded eagerly and with force that surprised Tony. Bruce climbed on top of him and Tony moved his hands from other man’s face to his hips.

 _Fucking finally_ , Tony thought, pun entirely intended, because fuck yeah. He’d only known Bruce for a few weeks, but it’d felt like eternity waiting, especially after he’d taken so long to call in the first place.

Bruce broke away for a moment, his breathing a little heavy. He looked surprised, but whether it was with Tony or himself was anyone’s guess.

“Where was this three weeks ago?” Tony asked softly, a small smile playing on his lips. He was almost afraid of ruining the moment, but he needed to know.

Bruce’s face was flushed and Tony couldn’t remember if it’d already been that way or not. “Uh, yeah… about that.” His hands moved from the back of Tony’s head to behind his own and he bit his lip nervously. It would have been cute if it didn’t set Tony on edge.

“What?” he asked. Great, just… _fantastic_ , yes, he was finally getting what he wanted and Bruce was going to say something to ruin it. He just knew it. He didn’t get nice things.

“I waited so long for you to call that I didn’t think you were ever going to,” Bruce explained carefully. “And then you did. And you were coming over that night.” He shrugged. “I was excited, and worried, so… I downloaded that database program and learned the coding so I’d have an excuse for inviting you over.” The color in his face deepened a little. “Other than, you know, sex.”

Tony looked at him a long while, a skeptical expression on his face.

“You’re telling me,” he said slowly, “that you learned a completely new programming language because you were nervous about sleeping with me.” He paused, letting it process. “Do you even program?”

Bruce fidgeted. “Uh, no, not really.”

Tony stared at him a moment longer before the smile that had been fighting to be seen spread across his face. He wrapped his arms tight around Bruce and drew him closer.

“Bruce Banner, do you know how fucking adorable that is?” he asked fiercely.

Bruce grinned down at him. Something sparked in his eyes. Tony was finally gonna get laid.


End file.
